


Something about Heroes

by Agent_Zap



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bodily Functions, Community: blindfold_spn, Constipation, Desperation, Enemas, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Laxatives, M/M, Medical Kink, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:43:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Zap/pseuds/Agent_Zap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original prompt:</p><p>"Dean/Castiel constipation<br/>Dean is constipated after one of his teleportations with Castiel, and Cas helps him out with it. Fingering, suppository administration, etc."</p><p>Dean suffers from existential constipation. Fortunately, as one commenter wrote; he has Castiel, the friendly, multi-purpose angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something about Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Slightly for 5.14
> 
> Disclaimer: No money. No rights.
> 
> Beta: chef_geekier. Seriously, our exchanges about this story should have a title of their own.
> 
> The title is taken from the poem by Danish Halfdan Rasmussen. I haven't been able to find any official translations, so my own attempt can be found at the end.

After the defeat of Famine, Castiel waits around at Bobby’s house until Sam can be released. He’s not sure what exactly he’s waiting and watching for, as things seem to run their courses as expected, and nobody says much. He’s not sure which of the brothers looks worse when they unlock the door and lead Sam up to the bathroom. Bobby just shakes his head.

After they leave to follow new trails, he keeps popping in. Just in case. Sam seems to be back to his old self, but has stopped dropping hints about Dean’s recent lack of enthusiasm for pretty much everything. Dean has stopped pretending he’s doing anything for other reasons than inertia, and Castiel realizes that even though he never thought he recognized human humor, he recognizes its abscence.

He arrives in another motel room, while Sam is out, and finds Dean bent over, clutching his stomach. At his enquiry as to what is wrong, Dean barks a breathless laugh between his teeth and looks up.

’You know, Castiel… Famine saw I was dead inside. I guess it wasn’t just my soul.’

’What are you talking about?’

Dean closes his eyes, stands up straight with a sigh and stretches with a grimace and his hands against his back.

’I guess it’s only fitting. I’m so damn tired. I’ve quit. Now my body’s also quitting.’

Castiel stares hard at him.

’In what way is your body quitting?’

’As in my stomach has completely stopped working. I think it finally gave up when you zapped us back and forth to ’78. I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it till after Famine. He saw what it was all about.’

’You haven’t defecated for 16 days?’

Dean runs his hand over his face, says:

’Yeah. At least. I’m not sure before that.’

Castiel steps forward and raises a hand towards Dean.

’Let me look.’

’NOO…

Castiel touches Dean and gazes into his body. It looks pretty much like last time he looked – the carvings are still there. The body is in exceptional shape for its age, having been rejuvenated when he pulled him out of Hell – no arthritis, hardly any aterosclerosis – though there are hints of liver damage that Castiel knows were acquired only lately. He turns his attention to the digestive system, and is simultaneously impressed and relieved. Time to leave.

…OOO!’

Dean jumps back with a look of horror on his face.

’What the fuck did you just do?!?’

’I looked inside you. There’s no need for concern. Although your large intestine holds an unusual amount of impacted fecal matter, the intestine is healthy. You do not have a complete obstruction of the bowels, and are not in any danger right now. Your body is not quitting, as you put it.’

Dean’s expression shifts very quickly from outraged, to disbelieving, to… sort of deflated.

’Huh. But, I _could_ have an obstruction, thingy, right?’

Dean waves his hand around in a general concept manner.

’Yes, which is why we will get your bowels working again.’

’Yeah, good luck with that. For the last 4 days I’ve been eating all kinds of shit pills. All I got was these cramps. But hey, can’t you just zap the shit out of me?’

Dean looks forced hopeful for a moment. 

’No. I could, yes. But that would bring the same effect on again – the same as when I ’zap’ you. Your body needs to work to solve this problem. But, there are ways to help with that. Other than ’shit pills’. It is too late for those to be of much help.’

Dean lowers himself gingerly into a chair and looks up at Castiel with resignation painted on his face.

’So, what do you suggest?’

* * *

Castiel brings back a bottle of Castor Oil. Sam is still at the library. Dean resolutely unscrews the cap and puts the bottle to his lips. Castiel can see his adam’s apple bob. Twice. Then he tears the bottle away, makes a convulsive movement and burps it all back up in his hand.

’HDRRR. Oh my God, that is evil! How are people supposed to get this down?’

He stares horrified into his hand and walks a little wobbly into the bathroom to wash his hands. Castiel follows him.

’I suppose I could ’zap’ the oil into your stomach. I don’t think that would ruin the effect.’

’Do that!’

Castiel does. Dean looks at the bottle, which is now empty, on the edge of the sink. He squints and looks closer.

’It says here to take 1 to 2 tablespoonfuls. This bottle is 8 ounces!’

Castiel calmly takes the bottle and puts it in his coat pocket.

’Don’t worry. This will be effective. It takes some time before it works. It helps if you move around, perhaps go for a walk.’

’Okay. We could walk to the library and see what Sam’s found.’

The library is a good walk away, and Dean is walking slowly. Lately he hasn’t been as bouncy as he used to be, but this makes images of ducks appear in Castiel’s mind. About halfway there, he stops, breathes deeply with his hands on his knees. The air whistles in and out of his nose.

’Cas, I don’t think I can do this. The cramps are killing me. Please, let’s go back?’

’If you want.’

They turn around, and slowly start the back trip. Every now and then, they stop for Dean pressing his hands against his stomach and catching his breath. As they are getting closer to the motel, gurgling sounds become audible, not only to Castiel’s ears. They walk faster.

’Shit, shit, shit…’ Dean whispers as he stalks along on stiff legs. Castiel doesn’t think he’s aware of the irony.

As they reach the door, Dean fumbles the keys, trying to unlock it and unbuckle his belt at the same time. He tumbles into the room and runs for the bathroom, but trips and falls to his knees with his jeans open, making them just slide down off of his hips. Castiel closes the door behind him and turns to see Dean bend his back and groan out loud, while clasping a hand over his ass. Castiel just stares as Dean tips onto his side, and a series of squirty, runny blasts erupts from him. Castiel catches himself wishing Dean was wearing white boxershorts instead of black, as he sees the tight fabric sag with the liquid feces filling them. Strange. He grabs a towel off of a chair, and tucks it under Dean’s bottom before helping him up and to the bathroom.

Dean walks right into the shower stall on shaking legs, kicks his boots off out on the floor, and peels off the jeans and the dirty underwear. Castiel watches as he cleans himself up, finds some relatively clean clothes and puts them on, then stuffs the dirty clothes and towel in a plastic bag and tells Castiel to take it out to the dumpster. 

When he comes back in, Dean is slumped in a chair, looking up with dark ringed eyes. 

’So, was that it? Because, seriously, I don’t feel a lot different. Except, of course, for the ego-boosting experience of shitting myself, curled up on the carpet in front of an angel of the lord.’

’Be assured, you are not the first to have had that reaction faced with one of us. Unfortunately, you are right; this didn’t solve your problem. What you experienced was _paradoxical diarrhea_. It is the result of liquid stool from the smaller intestine moving around the hard fecal matter in the larger intestine without being able to move it.’

Dean does not look thrilled.

’So you’re saying whatever I take to get things moving won’t be able to move anything at all? What then?’

’We will need to approach the problem from a different direction.’

’Yeah, no shit,’ this time it looks like Dean does catch the irony, but it doesn’t look like he’s appreciating it, ’Sherlock, but how?’

’What exactly don’t you understand? There is only one other direction from which to approach this.’

Dean’s eyes grow bigger and bigger, and then he points his finger at Castiel in a very rude way.

’No way you’re getting anywhere near my ass!’

Castiel stays silent for a moment until Dean apparently runs out of justification for fingerpointing, and his hand sags back down to his stomach.

’I’ve already looked inside your entire body. Don’t you want to prove Famine wrong?’  
’I don’t know.’ Dean looks away. ’I don’t know that he _is_ wrong. Somehow it seems appropriate that even my body will end up dead from choking on its own crap.’

Castiel doesn’t see what’s appropriate about that. He tells Dean he’ll be back in the morning. Sam will be back soon, and somehow Castiel senses that Dean would rather not have Sam involved in this mission. He’ll see that Sam is distracted and safely away tomorrow. Dean doesn’t protest, doesn’t really say anything, just moves to his bed and lies down, curled up around his sore stomach.

* * *

Dean is tired. So fucking tired. He feels like he’s made of a ton of bricks, mentally and physically. He knows that constipation is the result of getting teleported by Castiel, it’s happened before. But right now, it seems like it’s all part of who he is. How could he not be constipated. At first he didn’t even notice, it wasn’t until after he and Sam got back on the road that he started feeling the ache in his back and the heaviness and lethargy that wasn’t only in his mind. The urge to shit, the fullness of his rectum, is a constant presence now, but of course, no matter how hard he struggles, nothing has come out of him – except for todays totally uncontrollable explosive diarrhea.

The cramps started up after he dragged himself to a drugstore for some over the counter remedy. Now, lying in bed after Castiel has left, he closes his eyes and tries to imagine what the angel saw inside him. He runs his hands over his belly, which doesn’t really look that distended when he stands in front of a mirror, but to the touch it seems taut, the muscles stretched and aching, and when he relaxes and presses down on it he can actually feel the strange, large hardness inside him. No, Castiel’s first choice of attack didn’t solve anything. He tries not to think about what he will be doing tomorrow, and falls into fitful sleep, cradling the solidness of his midsection.

* * *

When Castiel shows up the next morning, his arms are full of… stuff. Dean can’t help but look at him with a bit of… nah, not excitement, but maybe hopeful apprehension. Focusing on relieving this physical problem, leaving it in the hands of Castiel, has taken his mind a bit off the whole being dead inside thing. This, this he can deal with. Or, Cas can deal with it. Thinks he can deal with it. 

’What do you want me to do?’

Castiel takes off his coat.

’I will start by examining you rectally.’

Dean’s optimism wavers.

’Didn’t you do that with your X-ray vision?’

’Yes, but I can’t predict from that, how your body will react to any of the intrusions that will have to occur. By actual, physical contact I’ll be better able to gauge your body’s response.’

Castiel pulls out an industrial sized bottle of lubricant and looks at Dean expectantly.

’Remove the clothes from your lower body and lie down on the edge of the bed.’

Dean takes a deep breath and complies. He wants to fuss with folding his clothes up neatly on a chair, but refrains and lies down on the bed with his back to Castiel. He looks over his shoulder.

’Don’t you need gloves or something?’

’I’m an angel, Dean. Pull up your upper leg.’

Okay, then. Dean turns his head back forward and gets a hard grip on the sheet. He’s prepared for a violent attack, and gasps in surprise when Castiels hand gently cups the entire area between his ass cheeks and covers him with cool, slick lube.

’Try to relax.’

Dean takes a few deep breaths as one of Castiels fingers rubs back and forth over his hole, and finally presses in slowly. It’s not so bad. In fact, it feels fucking wonderful to finally have a sensation of something solid moving down there, even if it’s just Cas’ finger. Anyway, Castiel doesn’t move in much, but slowly adds another finger before probing deeper. Dean can feel how he almost immediately hits the hard mass inside him. The slight displacement it causes is such a relief that he almost can’t keep from squirming further onto the fingers, though he knows there isn’t room for them anyway.

* * *

Castiel feels full of awe. Yes, he’s looked inside Dean before, and there are not really any surprises, but he hadn’t realized how intense the physical sensations of his body would be compared to the celestial vision overview he had before. He feels the wrinkled skin of the anus crawl against his fingers before he slides one inside, and in there, he suddenly gets an idea of the feelings Dean was trying to explain. Adding a second finger, he feels forward and comes up against a hard, lumpy wall that shouldn’t be able to fit inside this channel of flesh. He tries to feel around it, but it’s just not possible. He can’t believe this will be able to pass through the small ring of muscle that is just fitting around his two fingers right now.

He pulls out, and distractedly hears Dean moan, while he watches said muscle pulse with contractions.

’Sit up. Please.’

Castiel sits down next to Dean and prepares what he’s going to say. Dean looks a little shaken, but not uncomfortable.

’I was expecting to be giving you an enema with a slightly irritating effect. The incident yesterday means that just pushing from the top won’t move what’s already stuck, it will be necessary to activate the muscles of your colon and get it to work with you. Hence the need for an irritant. However, with such a large and hard impaction, if your bowels start contracting too hard, you may tear something. Therefore the liquid is necessary to soften it up, and we will only use a mild irritant.’

’Okay.’

Castiel looks up at Dean.

’That is not all. I thought I’d be able to do this right away, but the impaction stretches all the way down your rectum to your anus, and there’s just no room to actually introduce the enema. You will need manual disimpaction first.’

’Manual _whatamathingy_?’

’I will need to manually remove some of the fecal matter through your anus.’

Dean turns a little pale and blinks. Swallows.

’Okay.’

Castiel frowns at him. He wasn’t expecting this to go down so easy. 

’You want to do it here? Or…?’

’Yes. We’ll do it here. Lie down, I’m going to line the bucket with an extra plastic bag.’

He gets up and fetches the bucket and bag, and sets up again behind Dean, who has quickly taken up his previous position. He’s even squirming about a little, as if getting comfortable. 

’This will take a while. You may want a pillow.’

Dean grabs one and beats it into shape before putting his head down on it. 

’Thank you.’

Castiel kneels down and looks at Dean’s ass, which is sticking out in an almost inviting way. He stares at the small hole in the center, thinking about what lies just beyond it. The full and pungent physicality of it is quite heady.

’Hm. Dean.’

’Yeah?’

Dean’s voice is low and rough.

’I will need you to help me with this. When I tell you to push, you do that.’

’Yes.’

’I’d like to see just how much you are able to push, before we start.’

’Okay.’

Castiel reaches around Dean’s side and lays his hand against his stomach, feeling for that strange weight inside him while he watches where the mass is supposed to appear.

’Now push.’

Dean takes a deep breath and holds it, presses while all his muscles go tense. His abdominal muscles go hard as a board, and Castiel stares in fascination as the skin around his anus bulges outward, looking almost like there’s a grapefruit stuck under his skin behind his hole, and a small, dark spot appears in the middle.

He lets his breath out with a gasp just as Castiel lays his hand over the bulge, and he feels it disappear back into Dean’s body under his palm, as Dean relaxes.

’Okay?’

’Okay’ Dean whispers.

 

Castiel starts working with the lube. Although there’s hardly even room for that, he wants as much of it inside Dean as he can get, before maneuvering any of the hard lumps out. He pours it into his hand and feeds it into Deans hole as best he can. When it starts to just run back out, he slowly digs his two fingers back in. Dean sighs shakily. Castiel feels around, he prods at the mass inside, which makes Dean squirm even more, and determines that lumps are sticking out that it’ll probably be easy to break off. Now he just needs to make sure that Dean’s hole is ready for both fingers and lumps to move back out. He starts stretching the muscle, twisting and working his two fingers in different directions before adding a third, and finally for a moment, his thumb as well; he’ll prefer to get a proper hold if possible, instead of just digging with two fingers. Dean is still relaxed and quiet, except for the occasional deep breath.

’Are you ready?’

’Yeah…’ Dean answers dreamily.

’Now _push._ ’

Dean tenses and bears down on Castiel. He digs into the hard blockage pressing towards him, and manages to break off a few small, hard lumps. Dean gasps. Castiel presses his thumb inside again and spreads out his fingers to reach for the smooth little bits.

’Push again!’

Dean grunts and strains, and between the soft walls of his anal channel, Castiel’s small, strong fingers get a hold of the pieces and force them out into his hand.

Dean pants like he just ran a marathon. His buttocks are covered in sweat.

’Was that it?’ He gasps, as Castiel lets the two tiny turds, hardly bigger than hazelnuts, fall into the plastic bag.

’No. But a successful start.’

Dean blows out a long, shaky breath.

* * *

An hour later, while washing his hands, Castiel thinks that was it.

Dean is exhausted, and his anus is quite puffy and red, but there has been no bleeding, and his rectum is now so empty that Castiel wouldn’t be able to reach anymore of the impaction without actually sedating Dean. Time for the next part of the plan.

As Dean is about to sit up, Castiel stops him.

’Don’t move around too much, now. We want to get the enema into you before the whole thing starts moving down into your rectum and gets stuck there again.’

’Can I go pee?’ Dean whispers hoarsely. Castiel looks at his shiny, red face and damp hair. He’s on his back now, and rubbing his belly, unconsciously feeling along the palpable outline of his colon.

’I’ll get you a bottle.’

Dean nods and shivers, and pulls the blanket on top of himself.

Castiel quickly finds an empty whisky bottle, unscrews it and holds it out to Dean, who catches it, but quickly drops it from his shaking hands as he tries to manage both bottle, blanket and turning on his side at the same time. Castiel picks up the bottle, lifts the blanket up and carefully takes hold of Dean’s penis. It looks different from the one of Castiel’s vessel, though he never gave it much thought. It’s a soft, pale little thing, and at first Dean can’t let go as Castiel holds him and steadily points the head into the bottle. Then Dean takes a couple of deep breaths and slowly the urine starts trickling into the bottle. He stops and starts a couple of times, but the bottle slowly fills about midway.

’I think that was it.’

He empties the bottle in the bathroom and prepares the enema. He has opted for an old-fashioned soapy one, and hopes it’ll be able to get past the blockage in Dean to soften up the entire mass and get all of his colon working on expelling it.

He clamps the hose and fills the bag, then lets the air out. A little down from the foot of the bed, he ties the bag to the lamp in the ceiling.

’Dean, I need you to get up on your knees, with your head down on the pillow. Gravity should work with you. The water has to get past the impaction. The pressure on the water will be quite high from the level of the bag, and there’s not a lot of room inside you, so you’ll feel it keenly. You need to hold tight and not let any of the water run anywhere except into you.’

Dean gets up on knees and elbows, and rests his forehead against his arms.

’Okay. Give it to me.’

Castiel doesn’t bother lubing the nozzle. It’ll only make it more difficult to keep it inside. He feeds it into Dean’s hole – such a tiny thing, the nozzle, much smaller than Castiel’s fingers – sees him swallow it up and then squeeze tight around it. Slowly, he opens the clamp.

* * *

Dean didn’t expect this to be such hard work. He expected it to be painful, humiliating, just generally unpleasant. He didn’t expect that shitting might be a task that required every effort of every muscle in his whole body. Either effort to relax or effort to strain. But strangely, although he knows he’s not nearly through, yet, it seems like a huge burden has been lifted from him. He’s not even embarrassed about the struggling and intimacy. It just doesn’t work that way with Castiel. The angel doesn’t seem to view this as a task different from any other. He doesn’t mind all the dirty, twisted, disgusting details that are Dean. To him it’s probably all just happy shiny creation. Dean tries to summon some proper self-disapproval for feeling weirdly good about that. But it’s too hard work, and he lets it go.

Then Castiel tells him to get up on his knees, and he manages to shift his body into the requested position. He rests his head on his arms, feeling the weight of his full abdomen press against his chest. He realizes that the point is to get the water to run down into him, and adjusts his position so that he’s got his ass as far in the air as possible. It’s the best he can do, now. He feels Castiel’s cool, soothing fingers against his slightly throbbing asshole, and the cool nozzle enters him. He squeezes down on it as hard as he can and waits.

At first it’s just a slight coldness, as the clamp is still almost tight, the flow slow and the water not quite body temperature. It’s nice. Then he feels the pressure build. The flow is increasing. Who knew such a small difference in elevation causes such pressure. He bites down hard and sucks air through his teeth, fighting not to let go. He can feel the muscles of his already abused asshole spasm around the nozzle, and deeper inside, the pressure is triggering cramps. He’s reduced to nothing but the fight to hold the water in. Then he feels Castiel’s hands on his ass, pushing his ass cheeks together to help him. He suddenly hears his voice over the roaring in his own ears, and remembers he’s not alone with this.

’ –’s good, Dean, hold tight, this is the most difficult part. It’ll give anytime, now. Don’t give up.’

Dean squeezes everything that can be squeezed in his body, and a desperate roar tears past his vocal chords, then he has a feeling like a dam breaks inside him. He can feel the clean, sudsy water rush over his insides like a deluge, the terrible pressure in his ass disappears, and Castiel releases his hold and rubs his hand reassuringly against Dean’s skin before letting go. In the middle of the mindnumbing pleasure of relief, Dean feels a little sad about the loss.

He takes deep, hitching breaths, as he feels the water fill him up – he hadn’t thought he could feel more full than he did before, but this is different. He feels the lively waves of the water flowing through him and expanding him, not weighing him to the ground like iron. 

Castiel’s hands return, and Dean realizes he’s taken everything Castiel intended him to. A burst of pride flashes through him.

’I’m going to remove the nozzle, now. Please hold tight.’

The nozzle is patiently wriggled out of his ass. He feels a single drop of water run down and get lost in the hair on his balls. Now what, he wonders. The idea of having to move himself to the bathroom to release the entire chaotic mess inside him is just too overwhelming.

’You can lie down, now, Dean. You should keep the enema inside for at least 15 minutes, in order for it to soften up the fecal matter properly. You will probably start to feel a need to go before that, because of the soap, but try to wait.’ 

Castiel is taking the bag down from the lamp as he hears Dean whisper something. He turns around and looks at him. He’s still on his knees.

’What did you say?’

’Can you help me to lie down? I don’t think I can move on my own right now. Without letting go, you know.’

Climbing on the bed, Castiel quietly wraps his arms around Dean’s chest and supports his body as he slowly lowers him onto his side. He pulls the blanket up over him and goes to pack away the enema paraphernalia.

* * *

Back in the room, Castiel sits down on a chair and waits. Dean is getting restless under the blanket. A muffled voice sounds.

’How long?’

’Still 10 minutes to go.’

’Fuck.’

’Can I do anything?’

Silence.

’Fuck! Get over here!’

Castiel approaches the bed. Dean yanks the blanket down, on his back with his legs stretched out and pressed together. Under his T-shirt which has ridden up, his belly stands out, round and smooth like some celestial body. Castiel wants to know what it would feel like to touch it.

’Help me back up! I’m getting squashed under my own weight here, I need to get back up on my knees. Ahhh…’

He writhes on the sheet and clutches at his ass as he fights the cramps. Castiel pushes his arms in, under his body, and rolls him back up on his knees and hands, where he quickly stretches his back and pushes his legs out behind him. His stomach protrudes even more, carried in front of him like a pregnancy, while he uses the muscles of his legs to help keeping his ass clenched tight. Castiel can’t resist the temptation this time, he’s already got his hands on Dean’s body now, and he slides them down around that big, distended belly, rock hard from both pressure and the cramps. He pushes against it, and Dean gasps. 

’Please!’

It could be Dean asking him to stop, but Castiel knows it’s not. He pushes harder, rubs against the stretched, sensitive skin and revels in the promise, the possibility of it. Dean starts keening and panting.

’I can’t, I can’t anymore, I can feel it moving inside me, I can’t stop it - -’

’And the time is up. You did well. Let’s get you to the bathroom.’

Dean looks up at Castiel with a light in his eyes, like he’s been given a second chance.

’Will you stay with me here, instead?’

’…I’ll get the bucket and some towels.’

* * *

When Castiel has gotten the bucket and the towels onto the bed, Dean is hyperventilating. He has moved forward so he can rest against the headboard of the bed. Now he’s clinging to it with white knuckles. He still has his legs tight together, and his buttocks are quivering. Castiel holds the bucket just under him.

’Okay. You can let go. Spread your legs and let go.’

Dean relaxes with a whoosh, and a small amount of dirty water squirts into the bucket. The huge plug inside him quickly moves down, though, and blocks the passage completely. Dean yells and hits his fist against the wall.

’- - come on come on _come on_ \- -’

’Come, Dean, lean back a little, spread your legs. I’m putting the bucket on the bed. You’re right above it, now.’

He lets go of the bucket as Dean settles into position, and lets his hands run up Dean’s sides. 

’Now push.’

Dean finds reserves of energy he didn’t know existed, and pushes until he’s blue in the face. Castiel shifts between rubbing his hard belly and leaning back to look at his small hole which is once again pushed out by the mass behind it, like he’s trying to grow an extra leg. The aperture is expanding, though, and the hard, dark shape is showing more and more, retracting every time he stops to catch his breath, but moving forward even more with each new push. Unlike the first, small lumps Castiel removed before, this mass is not going to fall apart easily, it is massive and huge, and hard despite the enema. There is not going to be any pinching off of this, once it’s underway. It looks like it may be too much for Dean’s hole after all, he’s stretched impossibly wide, and the skin that was red and puffy before is now completely white and bloodless like drumskin.

’Stop. Stop!’

Dean wails.

’Stop?!? Are you serious??’

’Just stop pushing! Wait, wait.’

Castiel jumps off the bed and finds the lube again. Then he’s back, where Dean is panting and heaving in breaths, trying not to push.

’No, no, no…’

It sounds a lot like sobbing, and Castiel sees the dark protrusion sink back inside Dean. He quickly opens the bottle and pours lube directly down on the top of Dean’s ass. It slides down, and he catches it, starting to rub it around his hole, and inside, slipping the tips of his fingers in between the ring of skin and the fecal matter stretching it.

’Okay. Go ahead again.’

Dean seems to mobilize his final resources and pushes for all he’s worth. Shaking with effort, and covered in sweat, and with Castiel’s fingers coaxing him, he feels like he’s splitting apart. The hairs around his ass are pinging. Castiel puts his hands against the body of waste that is finally exiting, to prevent it from suddenly moving too fast and do tissue damage. Dean can suddenly feel that counteraction, as the pressure inside him finally gets the mass moving steadily, and it feels like Castiel is trying to push it back inside him. He throws his head back and laughs in a mixture of relief and pain as he feels the seemingly endless log just slide and slide out of him without effort.

Castiel thinks that this definitely is more impressive experienced through human senses than by taking a heavenly look inside Dean. He almost can’t believe that this enormous mass has fit inside the man in front of him. It’s bigger than Castiel’s arm. The first, stone hard part is free now, and Castiel lets it drop into the bucket as the slightly softer, though no smaller, parts keep pushing out of him as if somebody was squeezing him like a tube. Once in a while, a small grunt escapes him, when the autonomous work of his body surprises him. But he’s let his head fall down on his arms, and looks like there’s nowhere he’d rather be than on this bed with Castiel, shit pouring out of him. The consistency is quickly getting looser, and finally Castiel puts his arms around Dean to lean him back directly onto the bucket, so as not to have the remains of the enema and castor oil induced diarrhea sprayed all over the room. Dean leans back against him and promptly falls asleep. 

They stay like that for a while. Castiel keeps hearing sounds from the bucket for a long time. First there’s a steady splashing, peppered with gassy explosions. It tapers off after a while, with the occasional plop or a series of drips. Finally, all is quiet. Castiel decides to call this an emergency and sends the bucket and its contents off to Altair 4 before cleaning the place up and leaving before Sam returns. He considers for a moment if he should put a pair of boxers on Dean, but decides to leave him as is. He’s happy about that later, as speculations about what went through Dean’s head when he woke up without underwear will keep Castiel entertained for many a dark and boring century.

**Author's Note:**

> Something about Heroes 
> 
> Halfdan Rasmussen
> 
> Life is a morning gift, the soul a choir of pilgrims.  
> There are crocus in my garden and beers on my table.  
> The lark hangs under the sky like a distant, winged seed,  
> for a lark thinks neither of fighting nor dying.
> 
> It’s peaceful and quiet here, no noise or disturbances.  
> I’ve been sowing parsley, and a sachet of chives.  
> Let the whole world knock each other down and fight injury with insults,  
> I want to get along with others and myself and be okay.
> 
> Samson went and toppled temples, Peter Freuchen broke his leg.  
> Against those two examples, my deed is sadly pathetic.  
> I’ve never slain Philistines or fought against a shark,  
> and when strong men get gruff, I feel pity for myself.
> 
> There are plenty entertaining themselves with blowing away the world.  
> I don’t want grievances and cannons behind my hedges.  
> While others work hard on thrashing each other,  
> I’ll nurse red beets, root celery and turnips.
> 
> I don’t want to fight bullies, I’ll sow and not fight.  
> Even the reddest of radishes are quite trustworthy.  
> There are plenty of patriots being patriotic all day long,  
> Looking for fights while yelling Goddamn!
> 
> Time passes and time recruits big men for manly deeds.  
> I, the reserve among reserves, often break out weeping.  
> I get nerves and migraines just from a cut on my finger,  
> and I’ll rather cut my grass than cut down nice people.
> 
> Life is a precious gift, the earth is a wonderful earth.  
> There are beers in my belly, and crocus on my table.  
> When the reserves are called to break this globe apart  
> I’ll write with parsley the smallest heroic poem in the world.


End file.
